


staring until my blood turns to rain

by magisterequitum



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Adrenaline, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 04:08:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21191300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterequitum/pseuds/magisterequitum
Summary: There are many ways of dealing with battle lust and the post-adrenaline high.Hubert has a suggestion. Ferdinand cannot find a reason to disagree.





	staring until my blood turns to rain

**Author's Note:**

> No huge spoilers for Crimson Flower route in this. It's pretty vague as this is just meant to be set sometime post-five years during the war. 
> 
> Hubert is good at two things: getting blood out of things and hand jobs. Ferdinand is good at getting Hubert's attention. 
> 
> Title lifted from Tim Seibles's “Slow Dance".

Ferdinand has been unable to be still since today’s battle, and so it is no surprise to him that after the war meeting, Hubert approaches him. He stands outside of Edelgard’s tent, and that is probably Ferdinand’s fault – lingering here instead of retreating off to his own tent. But he has been staring at the spot of blood on his sleeve, worrying at it between his fingers. He frowns at the annoying and inconvenient stain.

How the blood worked its way beneath his armor he isn’t sure. His lance has seen many felled beneath his hand today though.

“Is there something else you needed?” Hubert’s voice cuts through any other thoughts bouncing around in Ferdinand’s head, drawing his attention immediately. Hubert stands to the side of the tent’s now closed and tied front flaps. One arm bent behind his back and the other held raised at his side, hand closed into a relaxed fist. The default stance of the Emperor’s spymaster.

“Ah,” Ferdinand says and blinks. “No.” His answer comes out too much like a question, the inflection in his tone rising to make the word a second syllable demure.

Ever observant, Hubert seizes upon Ferdinand’s mistake. His eyes narrow shrewdly and then move from Ferdinand’s face to his still busy fingers. Too late for Ferdinand to stop touching the stain. “That will ruin if you don’t remove it.”

Looking down at the blood, Ferdinand frowns. “I suppose so,” he says quietly. When he looks up, Hubert has come closer, only a foot away now.

Hubert cocks his head to the side and eyes him. He sweeps his gaze from head to toe, up and down him, as if he can figure something out by doing so. It’s a long stare that’s unsettling before he finally says, “Come along then.”

“What?” He asks, blurting out the question. His head swims and he feels like he just mis-stepped.

Hubert has already headed away, towards the direction of his own tent’s placement, and barely spares Ferdinand a look over his shoulder. “Unless you know how to get blood from clothes?”

Ferdinand hesitates for a moment, trying to think on why he shouldn’t follow the other man. This is Hubert, and while five years have passed and they both have seen so much, put so much aside now to be here, it is still _Hubert._

Hubert who has worked his way into Ferdinand's life and is now a fixture that sits somewhere inside his ribcage.

It’s Hubert who has told him to follow and Ferdinand’s brain cannot come up with a reason to not follow. Not a good one at least. He’s intrigued and his mind has not quieted all day. His skin buzzes from some sort of friction, an excitement that has left a sour taste in his mouth.

He is restless and itchy and wants _something. _

Ferdinand huffs and follows. He doesn’t need much to catch up, and even if he did, Hubert’s tent is not far from Edelgard’s. Ferdinand’s own is much closer to where his pegasus is housed, preferring to be close to his mount if needed for immediacy sake. In contrast, Hubert’s is larger in size, befitting the man who is the Emperor’s right hand. Ferdinand has the brief sight of Hubert ducking inside the untied flaps before they close behind him.

It is dark, well past evening mealtime, so late had their planning gone and no one else is around. Not that many would want to spend time around this tent in particular. Hubert did carry a sort of reputation amongst the rest of the foot soldiers. Dark magic doesn’t make for many friends even if Hubert was the sort inclined to be friendly.

Leaving his ruminations to another time, Ferdinand wipes the small smile from his face and follows inside the tent. It takes him a moment for his eyes to adjust to the candlelight. When he does he spends several seconds taking in Hubert’s things: books stacked about, papers and ink of all kinds, tiny bottles no doubt filled with all sorts of nasty things one wouldn’t want to accidentally touch, a spare set of boots, a thicker jacket for the colder weather that would be upon them soon, a desk for sitting at, two chairs, and a bed.

The last, the bed, Ferdinand cannot help but look at for longer than appropriate.

Hubert has left his sheets in a tangle, rumpled from sleep, one corner untucked, and it seems at odds with the man who is always so precise and perfectly put together. Even on the battlefield Hubert is composed.

Like now as he speaks and draws Ferdinand’s attention back to him. “You will need to take your shirt off.”

Ferdinand feels his mouth go dry for a second, his tongue sticking to the roof.

Hubert eyes him from his desk. Already he has placed out a bowl and spare cloth. A lemon rests nearby with two bottles of varying size. Neither of them are bigger than his hand and both are made from tinted glass. Efficient as always. He raises one eyebrow when Ferdinand delays.

“Of course,” Ferdinand says and undoes the cuff buttons first. His armor he has long since removed, having attended the late-night war council in just boots, breeches, and this shirt. He hands the shirt over without further delay.

“You can sit.” Hubert nods to one of his chairs nearby and then turns to the task.

Ferdinand does as told. His limbs obey before he can really think on it much. He sits and watches, fascinated by the movement of Hubert’s bare fingers devoid of those white gloves he favors so much. The lemon is rubbed over the stain, worked in with precise circles of thumbs. Then the water in the bowl. The two bottles have an acrid smell when Hubert applies them to the cloth.

He is not surprised that Hubert knows how to remove blood from clothes. He would not be surprised if Hubert could recite all the ways in which blood could be removed from anything.

“I suppose I should get used to this,” Ferdinand says after several minutes pass with silence. His leg bounces up and down in the chair, that restlessness creeping back.

Hubert doesn’t pause in working the cloth over his shirt, but he does look to him sideways. Those thin eyebrows pinch together, creasing his forehead.

“The blood on my clothes, I mean,” Ferdinand supplies at the confused look he gets. “It is to be expected now I guess,” he sighs wistfully. He feels the corners of his mouth tug into a grin.

The rhythmic noise of cloth on shirt stops and when Ferdinand looks up it’s to see that Hubert has paused entirely. Now, he faces him fully, gold-brown eyes staring sharply to where Ferdinand sits. It is never good when Hubert goes still. This much Ferdinand has learned over the years. Hubert is always dangerous but when still it usually portends disaster for someone.

“If you are unable to do this, then it would be best now to inform Lady Edelgard-” Hubert’s tone is harsh and cold. No trace of warmth to be found in it as he stares him down with an unforgiving and still face.

“No,” Ferdinand interjects. Confused, he slashes a hand through the space between them. “That is not, I am loyal to Her Majesty. That is not, that is not what I meant.” He rubs at his forehead and exhales sharply. “Forgive me, you misunderstand. It was merely a comment on the annoyance of my clothes.”

Hubert continues to eye him up and down with his mouth tightly compressed.

Sitting in only his breeches and boots, hair falling out of the ribbon he’d borrowed from Linhardt to pull it back from his face, Ferdinand feels underdressed for this sort of judging contest. He wrinkles his nose and stares back unrelenting at Hubert. “I have more than proved my worth to Her Majesty.”

The tick in Hubert’s jaw tells Ferdinand that he doesn’t believe him in the slightest but given that Hubert doesn’t believe anyone to be good enough for the Emperor, Ferdinand doesn’t take it as a slight. An annoyance and aggravating, two things Hubert are to him, but not that. 

Instead, he tilts his chin and waggles his fingers at Hubert. “Perhaps I should wear all black like you instead. Then it wouldn’t show.”

That does the trick and Hubert rolls his eyes, turning away to rinse the sleeve in the bowl. His retort comes out sharp but the coldness has left his tone. “Then how would we find you on the field?”

It is not hard to find Ferdinand when he rides a pegasus into battle but Hubert knows that.

“So you look for me then?” Ferdinand asks before he can stop himself. It’s as if all the noise in his head has quieted and instead has singularly focused on this. On him.

A sideways glance between the strands of hair that’s fallen over Hubert’s forehead and there’s the briefest flash of a smile to his face. “When you stop rushing headfirst into battle, then we will stop looking for you.”

“A noble is no good if they cannot lead,” Ferdinand murmurs. A lesson he remembers from his readings.

Hubert scoffs and waves a hand over his shirt. The scent and feel of magic fill the tent. After, he raises the shirt to eye level, held up by both shoulders. Satisfied, he snaps it into shape, the noise loud in the otherwise quiet of the tent. “A noble is no good period,” Hubert says when he turns and walks to stand in front of Ferdinand.

An older argument between the two of them. Between Edelgard as well. He knows her desires to see the nobility brought down. He has seen her actions to his father, to his home. He doesn’t disagree with her there, anymore after time has passed, but he cannot believe that things cannot change. That they cannot shape society into what they want it to be: good for all.

Ferdinand reaches a hand up for his shirt, ready to put it on and then be on his way, but finds it just out of his reach.

Hubert has extended his arm out but there’s space deliberately left between. Either would have to move to give or take the garment. Instead, Hubert stares down at him, a peculiar expression on his face. Again, he cocks his head to the side, watching like some great bird.

Now Ferdinand feels judged in a wholly different sort of way. One that makes him aware of his bare chest and that he is seated while Hubert stands over him. He licks his lips and feels his face begin to heat. “What-”

“You are still not right,” Hubert says. “I had thought it because you were too weak for battle, but now I am confused, I confess.”

_Ah_, Ferdinand thinks. So this is why he had been invited into this space. He should be insulted at Hubert’s machinations and games.

He stands up and pulls the shirt from Hubert’s hand, pulling his arms through the sleeves. “I am fine.”

“You didn’t stop drumming your knuckles on the table the entire meeting, you have not once stopped moving your leg while here,” Hubert says flatly.

Again, Ferdinand wants to point out this means Hubert has been watching him but Hubert watches everyone. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Except for the way he stands so close to him, the way his head is bent ever so slightly towards him, the way this is not across a table. It is just them.

“Hmm,” Ferdinand hums and clicks his tongue. He shrugs beneath his still undone shirt. “I have been unfocused since battle today.”

“Unfocused,” Hubert says the word slowly. His face scrunches together and then evens out as he laughs. It’s an odd sound, more a huffed exhale from both his mouth and nose. A snort. Now, he looks at him with a satisfied expression. Smug like he has just solved a puzzle. Ferdinand being the puzzle. “You mean you have not come down from your battle high.”

“What?” Ferdinand asks, blinking up into Hubert’s face. The candles on the desk filter his face in and out of shadows. Concern. That's the emotion that has been hidden between Hubert's carefully picked words and tone of voice. 

“Adrenaline.” Hubert places a hand onto Ferdinand’s chest. Palm pressed firmly and fingers spread over Ferdinand’s collarbone. “Battle lust. Whatever you wish to call it.”

“Oh.” He frowns, caught off guard by the sudden voluntary touching of Hubert to his body. He looks down to the pale fingers on his freckled skin. “I suppose that would be it.”

Those fingers tap along his collarbone ever so slightly. A gentle touch for a man who can kill with magic at will. “There are ways of dealing with it.”

Ferdinand snaps his gaze back up to Hubert’s face. He narrows his eyes at him. “Is this, is this some sort of game?”

The hand curls inward, fingernails dragging along his skin barely. “A game? No. We cannot have you unfocused, von Aegir.”

He almost means to jerk away at that. _We. _“So this is for her-”

“No,” Hubert cuts him off immediately. He swallows and Ferdinand can see the line of his throat work. “I saw you earlier, like I said.”

So he had been watching him, just him, just Ferdinand. That knowledge settles warmly in Ferdinand’s gut. His lips part as he once again looks from Hubert’s gold-brown eyes to his hand on him.

“You need a release. An outlet.” Hubert’s voice is quiet, the low timber wrapping around Ferdinand’s ears.

“A release?” Ferdinand asks and he’s aware how ridiculous he sounds just parroting everything the other man says aloud.

Stepping closer till their boots touch, Hubert eyes him with a sharp grin. The hand that hasn’t moved from its position now does so, trailing down his chest, his stomach, till it stops at the edge of Ferdinand’s breeches.

“You seem to have more experience with this,” Ferdinand says as Hubert’s second and third fingertips dip beneath the band of his pants.

Another snort like laugh. “With the aftereffects of this particular matter? Yes.” Those fingertips brush along the wiry hair they find. “I admit it brings me satisfaction to find you able to be undone by this too.”

He wonders for a moment if Hubert thinks him so grounded, so immovable by the war then. How long has Hubert been looking for a sign that Ferdinand has not been left untouched? How long has he been watching him? The thought of being the source of Hubert’s attention and thoughts makes his head swim with desire.

As intoxicating as how close Hubert is to him that he can feel his warm breath on his face.

That restlessness and itchy feeling, his skin alive and buzzing, kicks back up along Ferdinand’s spine. He can almost feel the phantom weight of his lance in his hand.

“Oh yes,” he sighs when Hubert moves his hand further inside his breeches. He leans forward a little bit.

That is the sign apparently Hubert has been waiting for because with a rotated move of his hand, his thumb undoes the buttons keeping Ferdinand’s breeches closed. With the additional space now, he can work his hand to grasp the base of Ferdinand’s cock.

Ferdinand’s cock that is extremely interested now and hard beneath Hubert’s hand.

Ferdinand sways on his feet a bit, leaning further into Hubert’s space. Their boots bump together but other than the hand on his cock no other part of their bodies touch. Even Hubert’s free hand stays at his side and so too does Ferdinand’s two arms. He is afraid to do anything that would stop this.

Unable to keep his hips from moving into the motion of Hubert’s hand curled around his cock, Ferdinand's also unable to keep the noise from escaping his mouth. It's a low grunt.

“There we go,” Hubert praises and it’s barely that but still Ferdinand reacts to it.

He groans as Hubert curves his hand around the head of his cock, gathering up the wetness there and using it to ease his hand’s stroking. He doesn’t settle into a slow rhythm at all. He’s methodical and with every pass swipes his thumb along Ferdinand’s tip.

He cannot help the way his mouth falls open, a gasp escaping. He cannot help either the way he cants his hips forward to help. He looks away from Hubert’s hand on him and up to ask, “Is this, is this how you deal with it every time?”

Hubert laughs lowly and his eyes are fever bright as they stare at Ferdinand. Never once has his gaze deviated from his face. “Sometimes,” he confesses.

Ferdinand’s sight finds the bed over Hubert’s shoulder, the messed-up sheets there. “Alone?”

Hubert squeezes Ferdinand’s cock for that question. His grin is sharp teeth all bared. “Don’t be ridiculous. Who else would I even?”

The thought of Hubert with his own hand around his own cock is too much for Ferdinand. Combined with the sensation of the man in question jerking him off, the mental fantasy sends him over the edge, spilling into Hubert’s hand.

Hubert hums, a smug expression on his face as Ferdinand is left to stand there, breathing sharply as now a euphoric buzz settles along his skin.

Stepping back, Hubert turns to his desk and the bowl -the same one holding water he’d used to clean the blood from his shirt with and uses it to now clean Ferdinand’s release from his skin. He wipes his hand with the same towel as well.

That shouldn’t excite Ferdinand, but it does as he watches with limbs that now feel finally tired and heavy, eyes half-lidded.

Hubert dries his hands on his pants quickly and then steps back into Ferdinand’s space with a disarming smile at the edges of his mouth. Fingers move before Ferdinand can react and do up the buttons on his shirt. He smooths out the shoulders and then drops his arms back to his sides. “Better?” he asks with one raised eyebrow and voice even. As if he’d not just had his hand wrapped around Ferdinand’s cock.

The even tone is not so easy a lie this time though. 

“Yes,” Ferdinand murmurs. He is. That’s the truth. He swallows any other words he wants to say and takes a step away from the chair and Hubert.

He turns to leave and makes it to the tent’s flaps, that they hadn’t even tied off now he notices, and pauses at Hubert’s voice:

“You should come for tea in the morning. Your tea, I should say.”

Ferdinand thinks he still has some of the coffee Hubert prefers around. “Alright,” he says and steps out before he can turn around and do something else tonight.

He has no problem falling into his own bed and falling asleep. His last thought is that he vows next time to see Hubert in _his _bed undone by his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> The next time they definitely use the bed.


End file.
